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Wendy’s Story

           ’Whereisit,Peter?’

           ’Itisn’tthatkindofpain,’Peterreplieddarkly.

           ’Thenwhatkindisit?’

           ’Wendy,youarewrongaboutmothers.’

           Theyallgatheredroundhiminaffright,soalarmingwashisagitation;andwithafinecandourhetoldthemwhathehadhithertoconcealed.

           ’Longago,’hesaid,’Ithoughtlikeyouthatmymotherwouldalwayskeepthewindowopenforme;soIstayedawayformoonsandmoonsandmoons,andthenflewback;butthewindowwasbarred,formotherhadforgottenallaboutme,andtherewasanotherlittleboysleepinginmybed.’

           Iamnotsurethatthiswastrue,butPeterthoughtitwastrue;anditscaredthem.

           ’Areyousuremothersarelikethat?’

           ’Yes.’

           Sothiswasthetruthaboutmothers.Thetoads!

           Stillitisbesttobecareful;andnooneknowssoquicklyasachildwhenheshouldgivein.’Wendy,letusgohome,’criedJohnandMichaeltogether.

           ’Yes,’shesaid,clutchingthem.

           ’Notto-night?’askedthelostboysbewildered.Theyknewinwhattheycalledtheirheartsthatonecangetonquitewellwithoutamother,andthatitisonlythemotherswhothinkyoucan’t.

           ’Atonce,’Wendyrepliedresolutely,forthehorriblethoughthadcometoher:’Perhapsmotherisinhalfmourningbythistime.’

           ThisdreadmadeherforgetfulofwhatmustbePeter’sfeelings,andshesaidtohimrathersharply,’Peter,willyoumakethenecessaryarrangements?’

           ’Ifyouwishit,’,hereplied,ascoollyasifshehadaskedhimtopassthenuts.

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